Essential to your own
by WigginsKaleidoscope
Summary: Post Cyberwoman, Ianto's fragile mindset causes him to take drastic measures.
1. Chapter 1

I should've slammed the door in his face. Showing up here 3 hours after watching me scream and sob on a cold floor, covered in blood and metal. He killed her! The only person on this planet to ever love me, and he killed her, and now he has the audacity to show up at my door looking hurt and angry? I really should've just slammed the door in his face. Actually, I shouldn't have opened the door in the first place. I was busy after all.

I had my second favorite gun, in pristine condition of course, sitting on the edge of my bathtub, a singular bullet, a beautiful hollow-point number that had been rattling around in my drawer since Canary Wharf, and I was ¾ of the way finished with a bottle of scotch. It was the bottle my father had given me a week before he died. Thanks old man! The only gift you ever gave me that wasn't a bruise, or a complex. Cheers. Anyway, back to the man at my door.

I considered telling him to fuck off, but thought better of it when I thought about the effect my use of vulgar language has on him. Much as I loved our games, I already had plans tonight.

Instead, I go with the always handy, "What can I do for you sir?" His response is immediate. I didn't even see his arm movie before I was on my ass with the imprint of his fist in my cheek. I manage to sputter out a, "will that be all then?" before the pain sets in, and all I can do is lay my head on the floor, and wait for the throbbing to stop.

"Is something about this funny Ianto?"

Only then do I realize I've been laughing. I'm not sure how to answer him, so I don't. I do, however, continue laughing. I hope it doesn't sound quite as hysterical to Jack as it does in my own head, but judging by the growing look of concern on his face, I'm gathering it does.

"Ianto. IANTO STOP. You're going to make yourself sick."

Between the scotch, the punch, the maniacal laughter, and just the all around horror that is my life, he's right. The urge to wretch is becoming far too prominent to ignore, and I have enough of my wits still about me to know that vomiting on Jack's shoes would be mortifying. It takes almost all my will to force myself to stumble towards the toilet, but I make it. Just. In fact, I'm still hugging said toilet when I hear him walk up behind me. I'm just about to wave him off when I find myself surprisingly upright, and slammed very harshly into the bathroom wall.

"WHAT THE FUCK IANTO? It's not enough to lie to us. To lie TO ME. TO almost get us all killed. To put the entire planet in danger. No. Now you're going to make us scrub your brains off of a fucking bathroom wall? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Why do you insist on doing everything but opening your fucking mouth, and telling me you need help? But no. Of course not. Hide your converted girlfriend in the basement. Get a couple of innocent people killed. Blow your FUCKING BRAINS OUT! Those are much better options."

At some point during his tirade, I'd started laughing again. I grabbed onto his arm, the one he had pressed into my chest, pinning me to the wall, to keep from sliding to the floor, I was laughing so hard! He'd stopped yelling at me, and was now just staring at me, furious, hurt, and something else that I didn't have the brain-cells to read at the moment. He grabbed my chin, trying to force me to look at him, but I couldn't focus.

"Ianto. IANTO!"

A sharp, hot pain on my cheek caused me to momentarily abandon my hysterics. I realize he's slapped me. Hard.

"Ow…"

I'd thought I'd shouted it, but it came out as a whisper. Then, suddenly, I'm clinging to him, my face buried in his neck, and I am sobbing. Mortifyingly, it is uncontrollable, and I can't stop.

We slide down to the floor, my back against the wall, my face plastered to the shoulder of his coat, and he's rubbing the back of my neck, whispering what sounds like a mantra into my hair.

Sitting like this, my mind flits back to the other times we've been this close. My lips tasting the sweat on his neck. His arms around me. He whispered then too, but it was usually my name, or a plea of some sort. "Don't stop." "Harder."

When those memories crash into my actions…my betrayal of this man in front of me, this man I called "monster", I do the only thing I can. I bite down, as hard as possible, on that coat I love so dearly, and I scream.

I scream until my throat is raw. Until I can't breathe. I let myself be comforted for a few more seconds before I grab him by the shoulders, and shove him away from me as hard as I can. He lands between me and the pistol, so I run at the mirror, and slam my fists into it. He knows what I'm trying to do, and is already rising and coming for me, but my determination makes me quick, and instead of bending down and picking up a broken shard from the sink, I just take both forearms and drag them along the jagged pieces still stuck in the mirror above. It has the same effect, and I am proud of my ingenuity for a brief second before I am violently shoved to the ground.

I find myself staring into the wet, blue eyes of the man I betrayed. The man whose face I should've slammed the door on, and I realize I love him. That's why this is unbearable. Not only did I lose her, and betray them, but I loved him, and used him anyway. That's what I'm capable of, and I know I've made the right choice.

He viciously, and rather tightly, wraps my arms in a couple of towels before he whips out his mobile and starts barking orders at a, probably very annoyed, Owen. Once he's had his say, he turns his full attention back to me. I try to tell him I'm sorry, to give him my best reassuring smile, and to tell him the name of the cleaner he should take his coat to when this is all done, but it's getting harder to keep my eyes open.

I allow myself one last look at him before I let myself fade. Trying to convince myself that the voice I hear, the one thick with tears, is a blood-loss induced hallucination. That he isn't whispering my name. That he's not pleading with me not to leave him. That he isn't begging me not to go.

Then it's dark, and I don't have to convince myself of anything anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

I've thought about death a lot in my 24 years on this planet.

At Torchwood One, on _that_ day, I was surrounded by it. Screaming, bloody, monotonous death, and in that kind of situation, you can't help but picture your own bloody ending.

When I first found Lisa, I actually wished for it. Surely death had to be easier than dealing with this, the shell of my love, this metal mockery of the only person I've ever actually let come to know me. I'll never know when she was truly lost to me. Was it always just the conversion talking? Manipulating me into getting it what it needed…what she needed to start an invasion? It's confusing. I could've sworn it was her there at the end, staring out at me from behind that poor girl's face, pleading with me from underneath that mangled scalp. At the start of all this, she was so hopeful. So sure that all we needed was the right kind of help, and we would get through this whole. Not Torchwood, surely. All they'd do was harvest the parts they thought they could use, and incinerate the rest. How right she was.

When I was a child, I was terrified of it. I saw it looming over every confrontation I had with my lout of a father. Scared that he'd finally make good on his threats, and make it so that he never had to look at me again. You see, I looked like "her", and it was a crime I paid for in blood.

She was a delicate soul, shackled to my brute of father through her children. She stayed with him, with us, for as long as she could stand it. One day I came home from school, and she was gone. I was a 4 year old boy, pale, back riddled with bruises, and now abandoned by my mother, and there wasn't an ounce of hate in my heart. All I felt was envy.

When I was 13, my father got a phone-call about his long-lost wife. She'd been institutionalized for the past 6 months, and had only just given them her name. He hung up on them, and forbade us from speaking about it. I never worked up the courage to go visit her, but I used to sit on a bench on the hospital grounds, and read. She died a year later, somehow managing to get her hands on enough pills to finally be truly rid of us. Again, I felt nothing but envy, hating myself for lacking the courage to follow her.

Now that Death had finally stopped skirting the issue. Now that I'd stopped being afraid of it, and just accepted it as the best option, the only option I'm worthy of really, I feel at peace. I can stop pretending. I can stop thinking. No more questions. No more consequences. I can, thankfully, just cease to be. Well, I thought I could. I've always pictured the after-life as a quiet place. An empty abyss of some sort, and while it is dark, and relatively quiet, I'm pretty sure I just heard someone call me a Prat. Surely, ending one's life means escaping moronic put-downs. Nope, there it is again. I'm being insulted…and instructed. Bloody hell.

* * *

><p>"Open your eyes. C'mon you Welsh Prat! Eyes open! You're not getting away that easy, and I know you can hear me. Now up with 'em!"<p>

Owen watched Ianto's eyes flutter open slowly, and had to hide a smile as he saw what could only be described as annoyance shining out of them.

"Well, well. Sleeping beauty awakens."

* * *

><p>Oh no. Unless the boisterous doctor had decided to cross-over just to annoy me, he'd somehow managed to arrive in time to save me. FUCK. This is not what I wanted. Can't one thing go right? Can't just one fucking thing go to plan? I'm trying to make it right! Ending my stupid life opens a slot on this planet for someone who merits it. The world can be rid of the prodigal fuck-up, and the team can have a coffee-boy who doesn't almost get them all converted into metal monstrosities. Someone who didn't use the boss's feelings for him as a means to an end. Someone who is whole, and undamaged, and fit to walk among them.<p>

Can't they see what I'm trying to do? Can't they let me get this one thing right?

* * *

><p>Owen watched the annoyance quickly turn into despair as Ianto realized just what had happened.<p>

"You've got to calm down mate. You're going to pop a seam."

He watched as the young man made an attempt to lift his arms, to see his heavily bandaged extremities, but the doctor gently grabbed his hands, and stilled his movements.

"You're chock full of pain-meds, and a strong sedative. Trying to move anything right now could put you in more trouble. You're spatial awareness is probably way off, and I don't need you smashing your damages into my machinery, and popping a stitch. You've bled on me enough for one lifetime, alright?"

As he was speaking, Ianto started moving his head from side to side. At first, Owen thought he was trying to get his bearings, or maybe still trying to get a look at his bandages, but as the movements grew more frantic, he realized he was shaking his head 'No'.

"C'mon mate, calm down. There is no point riling yourself up. You're safe whether you like it or not."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say as Ianto's wet, desperate eyes grew furious, and he launched himself at Owen with a surprising amount of accuracy. Knocking the doctor off of his feet, the heavily medicated Welshman clumsily straddled his chest, grabbed him by the collar, and screamed a litany of profanities in his face.

The language itself was impressive enough, as the doctor was unaware that his usually well-suited and well-spoken teammate was capable of such venom. More impressive, however, was how awake Ianto was. He should've been doped stupid with the cocktail he had running through him, not to mention the recent physical trauma, and here he was, mostly coordinated, and staging rebellion. He must be royally pissed off. Luckily, his strength was sapped pretty quickly, and Owen was able to get him under control, and back in bed without calling for backup.

Once he had his patient horizontal, and now restrained, he sat down to start writing up his report on the incident.

Other than the most recent injuries, Ianto had a multitude of scars on his back, and legs, and the scans had shown multiple old fractures to be present.

Ianto's body showed a long history of pain, and judging by his actions tonight, so did his mind. Since there was nothing on file to denote the origin of the injuries, Owen made a note that his records had most certainly been falsified to a degree. Ianto was hiding his past, and now they had to go digging for it. Canary Wharf wasn't responsible for every broken bit of Ianto, and it was time his young teammate stopped hiding behind it.

Glancing down at his groggy charge, he couldn't help but feel the weight of his responsibility for his current condition. He hadn't given enough of a fuck to pay attention, to use his skills to help his obviously damaged colleague, and now he had stitched up gashes on his forearms, and would soon have yet more scars on his already abused body.

Burying his guilt in favor of finishing his report, he realized now would be a good time for a cup of coffee…this caused him to once again glance at his patient.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p>After expressing his displeasure at being further shackled to this plain of existence, Ianto was exhausted. He couldn't even think properly about how to go about rectifying the current situation, never mind actually doing anything about it.<p>

Once again, I am trapped in a situation beyond my control, with death hovering near, and I can't help but fuck up. How can one person be so utterly useless? Surely, it should be somewhat distributed among the population?

"I hate this fucking life. Please...please just let me…"

He couldn't even finish his plea. It was too difficult to get his brain and mouth to coordinate. He feels Owen glaring at him, but because of the restraints, he can't even wipe away the tears that are shamefully trickling down the sides of his face.

"Fuck."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you for the positive feedback. It is much appreciated, and makes getting back to writing that much easier. The rating has changed because I've decided to temper the angst with a bit o' smut. _**

* * *

><p><em>He didn't turn when he heard Jack walking up behind him, in fact, the only acknowledgement that his blue-eyed leader existed played out in the smirk on Ianto's face.<em>

_ He kept to task, filing, as he heard the Captain take his usual place, perched on the edge of the desk behind him. He knew without looking that he had his arms crossed, and a wicked smile playing on his lips. They'd developed this routine over the past couple of weeks. _

_ Ianto would be dutiful, the ever-professional façade staying in place as the Captain watched him perform some mundane task. He schooled his features as Jack sidled up behind him, pressing his body as close as possible, digging his thumbs into the small of Ianto's back, and grinding his hips into his ass. He put his lips to Ianto's ear and asked him what he was still doing here. Everyone else had left hours ago. He trailed his lips down the side of Ianto's neck, interspersing his words with little bites and kisses to the sensitive skin he found there._

_ Ianto tried to keep the charade going. He feigned focus on the files in his hands and said, "As I'm the only one who puts in any work down here, I have to spend my nights filing away your adventures sir, numerous as they are."_

_ Though the words were innocent enough, Jack could hear how lust had roughened Ianto's voice. Could feel him trying to contain a shiver as he slid his hands forward, resting them just above the zip on his trousers. He could hear him bite back a moan as one of Jack's hands dipped low, and rubbed Ianto's cock, just as Jack slid his tongue up the back of his ear. _

_ That's where he always broke. Files lay scattered on the floor, completely abandoned as Ianto brought his hands up and pressed them against the top of the filing cabinet, bracing himself as the Captain finally undid his trousers, and wrapped his hand around Ianto's cock. Jack was doing his damndest to drive him completely insane. Grinding his stiffness into Ianto's ass, and growling into his ear about precisely what he was going to do to him._

_ Ianto turned his head to the side, and found his Captain's lips. Jack moaned into his mouth and his hand picked up speed as it worked Ianto's dick. He placed his other hand over Ianto's, where it was pressed into a white-knuckled fist at the top of the cabinet and said, " You are fucking beautiful when you come undone Ianto Jones."_

* * *

><p>He woke with a start. The sharp pain in his arms a shocking contrast to the pleasurable memory his brain had just taunted him with. It was jarring enough to make him gasp, catching the attention of the other figure in the room.<p>

"Owen didn't want to keep you on too high a dosage while you were still out. Wanted to wait until you stabilized a bit more. Your heat-rate keeps jumping up pretty high; he says your body is taxed, so he wanted to wait until you woke up…if you woke up…"

Toshiko blinked rapidly as she spoke, the tears in her eyes just barely kept at bay as she sent a shaky smile his way. She touched a finger to her ear-piece, and exclaimed a perky, "He's up!"

"We've been taking shifts sitting with you. We didn't want you to wake up alone. Owen said you'd probably be disoriented. You're in the hub. Who knew we had recovery rooms, right? Usually Owen just patches us up, and sends us off. Always a surprise lurking about this place."

She continued filling the silence as Ianto stared blankly at her.

How could she stand there, talking to him as if nothing was wrong? As if his arms weren't torn to shreds underneath his bandages? As if he hadn't nearly gotten her killed?

He wanted to apologize. To tell her how sorry he was for lying to her. For betraying the small friendship they'd been building over a mutual appreciation for good coffee, and bad kung-fu movies, but as he opened his mouth, his mind threw pictures of a broken, bullet-riddled body at him. A floor shining with blood and metal. The lifeless eyes of the woman he loved. Who'd loved him, and the words died before they hit the air.

Hearing footsteps coming their way, Tosh turned to face the door, wanting to escape the hopeless look Ianto was giving her. It was breaking her heart to see him like this.

Owen appeared first. Completely disregarding the chipper "Hello" Tosh greeted him with, and swiftly began checking his patient over.

Ianto would've been paying attention to the steady commentary being issued from the surly doctor's lips, but his attention was completely grabbed by the person that had immediately followed him through the door.

His Captain stood there, leaning sideways into the door-frame, staring intently at the man in the bed.

Ianto tried to think of something to say. Anything at all that could convey what was going on in his head. That could justify his betrayal. Maybe explain how she'd been the only person to ever love him, and that the concept of giving up on her, of giving that up, made breathing almost impossible. How he felt like throwing himself through a window when he saw the look on the Captain's face when he realized he'd been used. His attraction taken advantage of. How every touch was used to keep him from asking questions, from getting to the truth of Ianto's long hours spent in the basement.

He wanted to tell him that it wasn't just an act. His feelings were real, and the depth of them made him ache.

He wanted to say all of these things, and pull the Captain into his bed, and be lulled to sleep by listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. As he stared at the blue eyes boring into his, he knew that path had been lost to him forever.

He'd lost his Captain.

He'd lost his love.

He had nothing now, and yet they were still going to force him to live through this.

They hated him that much.

* * *

><p>Jack almost broke when he saw the tortured look in Ianto's eyes. He wanted nothing more than to go to him. To tell him he wasn't angry anymore. That he understood love, and desperation. That he didn't trust him yet, but that he would again one day, and that he'd forgiven him.<p>

Something in him wouldn't allow it. Some warped spat of pride was still stung, and so he stayed silent, trying to figure out how he was going to fix this. How he was going to get the truth about Ianto's past without damaging him any further.

He'd wrongly assumed that Ianto's scars were from Canary Wharf, but Owen had set him straight. If they wanted Ianto to heal, they were going to have to get to the true story behind them.

He tried to lock down the hammering in his head that cropped up every time he thought about how much it was going to hurt delving into Ianto's obviously painful past.

If he could shield him from it any part of it, he would, but the disease was already in him, ripping apart his young mind, and had been for a long time.

There was nothing to be done other than confront it.

To tear open the wounds, and hope he would survive.


End file.
